Old Habits Die Hard
by adventuresinposting
Summary: "Sam's gone on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days." Saving brothers, hunting things: Dean Winchester's Business. Stanford years. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Thank you so much to Melody Syper Carston for being my beta on this story! I did some small edits after she read through it, so any remaining errors are mine._

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Sam was bleeding.

He wasn't that concerned about it, to be honest. It was just a cut on his arm; he'd had much worse. Sam was much more concerned with the fact that the shape shifter he was fighting had disappeared into the darkness, and he had no idea where it was. Sam tightened his grip on the silver knife he was holding, eyes darting around the dark, dank basement in pursuit of the supernatural creature.

_God I am so stupid._

Sam had mistakenly stumbled upon this hunt. Or at least, that's what he told himself. He had been hearing rumors of people disappearing over the past few months, leaving no trace behind and no clues for the Palo Alto police. Old habits and curiosities soon kicked in, and Sam found himself elbow deep in the case searching for supernatural involvement. But with those old habits came a pang of guilt. Researching and hunting the supernatural was a way of life he'd sworn off more than a year ago; a furious fight with his father about "family" and "loyalty" had ensured that. But Sam had left more than that life behind. He had left his brother too, and for that Sam felt guilty.

It had been peculiar and lonely for Sam to research without his brother there to bounce ideas off of. It had taken him much longer than usual to pull together the small pieces of evidence pointing towards the veiled supernatural aspect of the case. But he had gotten a good idea of what might have been going on.

Sam had taken the last bus of the night to the outskirts of the city to investigate more, taking only a small handgun and a silver knife from his secret weapon stash. Sam told himself if he found a monster worth killing, he'd call another hunter to take care of it. But he needed to know that there was in fact a case to be taken care of. One of the older, more dilapidated houses he had been eyeing had a basement with an entrance from the outside via a storm cellar. Sam had carefully gone down the ladder that led into the windowless basement, finding exactly what he thought he would: The six bodies of the missing people of the last few months and several disgusting piles of discarded skin. He was satisfied that this was a case for a hunter and knew he needed to leave before the shape shifter returned. Sam had turned around to face the very creature he was hunting. Startled and unprepared, the creature had managed to inflict a deep cut on Sam's arm as the young man pulled him arms up in defense. As the shifter's blade sliced his arm, Sam sprang into fight mode and retaliated with his own knife.

It had disappeared into the dark after that.

Sam slowly revolved on the spot, the silence pressing in.

A rustle from one of the corners of the basement had Sam spinning to face the source of the noise. He couldn't see anything.

_I'm a freaking sitting duck._

He slowly backed up towards the ladder, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the middle of the large room.

The shape shifter emerged out of the darkness, grabbing Sam from behind and holding its knife to his throat.

"So. You found me. I suppose it was only a matter of time, but still. I wish I had had longer. I was so enjoying taking these people's places. All rich. All happy. It was an easy life," the shape shifter said.

The shape shifter had chosen the form of a young woman. Tall, with California sun kissed skin, dirty blond hair, and brown eyes, she would not have been out of place in a Stanford brochure. But the creature wearing her face made her beauty take on a sharp, almost terrifying edge.

Sam vaguely recognized her from one of his classes. Amanda, he thought her name was. Or had been.

"You're stealing people's lives!" Sam spat, "You're a monster!"

Anger flashed over the shifter's face and she dug the edge of the knife into Sam's neck. He repressed a shudder, feeling the cold metal breaking the skin.

"I am not a monster!" the shifter hissed, "Just because I'm not human makes me a monster?! I'm just trying to live my own life. And hunters like you won't let me. So I decided being human would be more…satisfying. I just had to find the human whose life I liked the most. It took me a while, but I think Amanda here is my favorite. Pretty face and lots of Daddy's money. You're not going to take this life away from me." The shifter pushed the knife harder into Sam's neck, a trickle of blood running down his neck.

"You've killed people. You're not human. You're just pretending," Sam said with disgust.

Sam suddenly swung around, grabbing the shifter's arms and twisting to force it to let go of the knife. The weapon flew away, lost to the darkness. Sam quickly swung with his own blade, cutting the shifter across the cheek.

"You've ruined my face!" the shifter screamed. With a hiss of pain, the creature flashed angry eyes and lunged at Sam.

He grabbed her arms, using her own momentum to swing her around and pin her to the wall with a thud. The two struggled for dominance, Sam pushing forward while the shifter pushed back, Sam's blade hovering over the shifter's heart. Sam lost his grip as the shifter began shedding its skin.

"Ugh, God!" Sam exclaimed in disgust, instantly letting go. He shook his hands, trying to get the goop off and dropping his knife in his distraction.

The shifter smirked, pushing away from the wall and searching for her weapon in the dark. Cursing himself for his stupidity, Sam scrambled to grab his silver knife, the blade glinting in the dark. Finding it, he grabbed the shifter from behind, holding his knife to her neck.

"Seems the tides have turned," Sam hissed.

The shifter elbowed Sam hard in the ribs and then kicked up to connect her foot with his groin. He let out a pained noise as all the air escaped him, the combined blows causing him to stumble back several paces. She kicked him to the ground, landing a few in his stomach. The shifter grabbed Sam's arm, twisting it around and forcing Sam to relinquish his grip on the knife. The blade clattered to the ground, and a kick from the shifter had it skidding away across the cement floor.

"What you going to do now, tough guy? Your little knife is gone." The shifter said slyly. She had a knee digging into Sam's hip, pinning him on the floor. She tightened her grip on Sam's arm and twisted it behind his back. Despite the slender size of the human she was impersonating, the shifter was just as strong as Sam, if not stronger.

Weaponless and now breathless, Sam let out a pained noise. His shoulder wasn't going to be able to take much more of this. With one arm in a death grip and his other pinned awkwardly beneath him, his mind scrambled to come up with some way to escape her grasp.

_Dean would know what to do. Dean would say something to distract her._

"You know you would be kind of beautiful except for the fact that you killed a girl to look like that." Sam wheezed.

"Shut up." The shifter pulled hard on Sam's arm, and with a sickening pop Sam's shoulder dislocated. He let out a yell, pain coursing through his arm and shoulder.

"You know, you make such lovely noises when I hurt you. I might just prolong your life a little longer."

The shifter kicked him hard in the shin for good measure, eliciting a yelp from Sam. His vision whited out, and all he could do was remember to breathe. He felt small hands roughly search him, and realized with a sinking feeling she had found his gun. Distantly, he registered the shifter move away from him.

_Knife. Have to find the knife._

He raised his eyes as his vision cleared, and through his shaggy hair, he quickly scanned the room looking for his blade. The shifter had found it first.

The shifter moved back towards Sam, gun in one hand and Sam's silver knife in the other. She yanked him up to a kneeling position, Sam groaning as his arm swung pathetically with the motion. He grabbed the arm and cradled it against his chest, winching violently.

"So, gun or knife? There's some kind of satisfying irony in killing you with your own weapons." The shifter smirked.

Without warning, the shifter swung with the blade, cutting through Sam's shirt and leaving a gash peeking through the rip.

Sam let out a yell, feeling hot blood already running down his chest.

The shifter smirked. "And you thought you would be getting me with this knife." It clucked its tongue, as if to admonish Sam.

The shifter slowly started circling Sam, deciding what to do next.

_C'mon man you have to do something. _

The voice in his head took on Dean's voice.

It had been a long time since he had been in this much pain, and his body and mind were struggling to adapt. His right shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat, his arm hanging useless. The cut on his chest stung as the cold air hit it, and he could barely breathe with the bruises to his abdomen.

As the shifter started its second circle, Sam grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the knife and twisted violently. The knife fell, and Sam quickly picked it up and clamored to his feet.

With an adrenaline fueled yell, Sam lunged forward with the knife, aiming for his opponent's chest.

It found its mark at the same time that Sam registered the sound of a gunshot. The shifter's eyes were wide in shock. Sam twisted the blade, the shifter gasping in pain.

Sam saw the glimmer of life leave her brown eyes, and he pulled out the blade with a sickening wet sound as the shifter crumpled to the ground.

He was breathing heavily, staring down at his kill in victory.

Sam took a step away from where the shifter lay, and a white-hot pain shot through his right leg before the limb gave out under him. Sam crashed to the floor, landing heavily on his injured shoulder. He let out a yell of anguished pain before the darkness came up to claim him.

Sam was bleeding.

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_**A/N**: Please take a second to review! Next chapter will be posted some time next week._


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**__ Thank you so much to Melody Sypher Carston for being my beta on this! I did some pretty extensive edits after she gave me her edits, so any remaining errors are mine._

_**PLEASE NOTE** the rating change from K+ to T. This is mainly for language, but also for descriptions of injuries. Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. _

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Cold was the first sensation Sam registered on his return to consciousness, quickly followed by the realization that he was shivering. A particularly violent shiver wracked his body and pain erupted on his right side. Sam let out groan and opened his eyes.

A sliver of moonlight peaked through the break between the cellar doors, providing the only illumination in the otherwise dark basement. Sam needed light.

_Cell phone._

With a sinking feeling, Sam realized the pocket containing his cell phone was the one he was currently lying on. He really didn't want to move if could help it. Hell, he wasn't even sure _if_ he could move.

Sam leveraged his left hand on the floor in front of his chest and pushed hard. With a dull thud, he rolled onto his back, the movement sending a jolt of pain through his dislocated shoulder. White spots erupted in front of his eyes, and all he could do for a few seconds was breathe.

_Gotta get out of here. _

Sam came back to himself with renewed determination. He needed to get out of that basement before someone realized he was gone. He hadn't told anyone at school where he was going just as he hadn't told anyone about his past life. And he was determined to keep it that way. Plus, no one needed to find him injured on the floor of a basement of an abandoned house, six bodies around him, piles of discarded skin, and a dead shape shifter with some of its skin missing lying nearby.

Gingerly, Sam sat himself up. The change in elevation sent a wave of dizziness over him, and he stared down waiting for it to pass. He reached across himself with his left arm, pulling his cell phone out of his right jeans pocket. He flipped it open, letting the feeble light wash over his injured right leg.

A deep gash framed by tattered and bloody jeans ran the length of Sam's leg, blood still oozing lazily from it.

Shot. The shifter had shot him.

Sam angled his cell phone to assess the damage more. He paused, shocked, when the light glistened back at him. There was a slowly growing puddle of blood beneath him.

_Oh God. _

He must have been out for a while if he had managed to bleed out this much. Sam gingerly turned his leg, wincing with the motion, and examined the gash. From about the middle of the limb and stretching diagonally down to just above his knee, the wound was ugly looking. Still, Sam counted himself lucky; the bullet had only grazed him. It was painful to say the least, but it seemed to have missed any major arteries or Sam would be dead already. Thank God for small miracles.

Sam breathed out a deep sigh of dread as he fully realized the extent of his injuries. The amount of effort he had put into even slightly moving his leg spiked the worry that the limb may not support him. The bullet must have torn through some muscles. With his injured leg and dislocated shoulder on the same side of his body, there would be no conceivable way for Sam to climb the ladder. He would be trapped.

Bleeding and potentially trapped, Sam's instinctual reaction was to call Dean. He shook his head, as if to clear that thought from his mind. He had gotten himself in this mess, and he would get himself out. Plus, Sam seriously doubted Dean would pick up or that he was even close by. They weren't exactly on speaking terms.

_He probably thinks I hate him_, Sam thought bitterly.

Sam glanced around the basement, using his cell as a pathetic excuse for a flashlight. His eye caught on his knife lying a few feet away near the dead shifter. Laying himself flat, Sam stretched to reach it; his fingertips grazed the hilt as his leg painfully protested the strain.

"C'mon C'mon," Sam groaned.

With a small noise of triumph, Sam pulled the blade to him. He pushed himself back into a sitting position and proceeded to cut several strips of fabric from the bottom of his pant leg using the blade.

_You can do this._

Sam hadn't often needed to fix himself up with his brother around. But now, Sam was alone. He had no choice but to take care of himself.

Fumbling in the near darkness, Sam began awkwardly wrapping his leg. Limited to one working hand, it was an arduous and long task. By the time he managed to crudely bandage his leg Sam was breathing heavily, and his brow was glistening with sweat. His leg throbbed with each heartbeat, but it had more or less stopped bleeding. The rest of his injuries were of less concern.

His most pressing concern taken care of, Sam turned his attention to getting out of the basement. Despite his injured leg, Sam figured he could push through the pain and force his body to move. Determination fueling his adrenaline, he took a deep breath, and, with a shove off the ground, he forced his legs under him.

He didn't even make it out of his awkward crouched position before falling back down on his ass.

"Fuck," Sam exclaimed as pain shot through him. He glanced down at his injured leg, realizing it had started bleeding again with his efforts, the loose wrapping having come undone. He cursed again.

His leg just wasn't going to support him. Sam started to panic in earnest now, blood loss and pain starting to take their toll.

"Pull yourself together, Winchester." Sam muttered.

Sam took a few deep breaths to steady himself and came to terms with the hard truth that he wasn't going to get out of here alone. Dejected, he flipped open his cell and dialed an all too familiar number.

On the third ring, a gruff voice answered, "Hello?"

"Bobby." Sam said, his voice raspy.

"Sam! Haven't heard from you in months, boy. You doin' ok?"

"Well. That's kind of why I'm calling." Sam swallowed, trying to get some moisture in his dry mouth. "Do you- do you know if any hunters are nearby? I'm stuck in a basement with a dead shifter."

"Excuse me?" Bobby's indignation obvious.

"I'm stuck."

"Sam- Are you hurt?" Bobby asked, suddenly concerned.

"….yeah. It shot me in the leg. I can't climb out." Sam admitted.

Bobby let out a sigh.

"Shit, Sam. I thought you were in school? What the hell are you doing hunting?"

Sam didn't answer.

"Sam where are you?"

"Basement. Brick house on the east side of Palo Alto." Sam felt another wave of dizziness overtake him, and he shut his eyes tight as the room began to sway.

"You don't have anyone you can call? A friend maybe?"

"No."

Bobby sighed again.

"There's one hunter close to you. A couple hours out."

Sam opened his eyes, glad to find the room steady again. He felt relief filling him at Bobby's words.

"What his name? Can you give me his number?"

Bobby didn't respond.

"Bobby?"

"It's Dean."

Sam felt the floor beneath him fall away, and he closed his eyes again to try and regain purchase on himself. He suddenly realized Bobby was calling his name.

"Sam! You still with me?

"…Yeah, Bobby. I'm with you." Sam groaned.

"Do you want me to call him Sam?"

"I…" Sam sighed. "Yeah, Bobby. Call him."

"Alright. You keep your cell close, you hear?"

"Yeah." Sam flipped his phone shut, putting it back in his pocket for safe keeping. He resigned himself to lying on the cold floor until his brother could come rescue him. Again.

As long as Sam can remember, Dean has been taking care of him. Acting as friend, teacher, and healer Dean has always been more than just a brother to Sam. Despite their now icy silence, the two share a unique bond, forged by an unconventional and dangerous lifestyle.

When Sam left for Stanford, he had left to find a normal life. Sam knew Dean didn't understand his desire for a life away from hunting. But it seemed the hunting life had wound its way back into Sam's life anyway, the dead shape shifter lying nearby the evidence. And soon, Dean would be back in his life again too.

Sam chuckled darkly. No matter what he did it seemed like hunting the supernatural was just inevitable for him. He had been naïve to think going to school at the edge of country could change that.

Sam sighed. He felt so useless, lying here on the floor. It had been beyond stupid for him to investigate a hunt without back up, his lack of practice only compounding that truth. He was never going to hear the end of it from Dean.

With a start, Sam realized his eyes were slipping shut, exhaustion starting to overtake him.

_Stay awake, Sam. Get off the floor. _

Sam rolled his head around, realizing the wall behind him wasn't too far away. Maybe if he could maneuver himself there, he could sit up to get at least some of his shivering body off the cold ground. And maybe have some dignity whenever Dean found him.

Sam took several deep breaths, steeling himself for inevitable pain. He forced himself to sit up again, shutting his eyes as dizziness overtook him again. He maneuvered his uninjured left leg to get his foot flat on the floor, and, balancing himself with his left hand as well as he could, he pushed himself backwards.

Pain erupted in his right leg as it dragged along the ground, torn muscles protesting the movement. Sam gritted his teeth, holding back the yell he so wanted to let loose. Years of experience told him that yelling never made the pain better, so he held it back.

He repeated the action, foot-by-foot moving closer to the wall, determination etched into his face. With each shift, a darkness distinct from that of the basement edged into his vision. He fought the pull of unconsciousness, telling himself he was nearly there. Finally, Sam felt his back meet the wall. He laughed, delirious with dehydration and blood loss and pain.

He slumped against the wall, suddenly sober as the adrenaline left him.

"Hurry Dean." Sam whispered. He gave up his fight with consciousness, letting the welcoming darkness take him.

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_A/N: As always, please review and let me know your thoughts!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**__ Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm glad to see my hand at cliffhangers and suspense is working! :) Sorry for not responding to all of them individually... I honestly lost track of them. Thanks to Melody Sypher Carston for being my beta on this!_

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Dean was on a stakeout. Armed with Ding Dongs and the biggest cup of coffee the gas station offered, he had settled in for a long night of monster watching. On instructions from his father, the dutiful son was keeping an eye on the rural house of a suspected werewolf. It wasn't quite the full moon, but it never hurt to test a hunch.

Dean yawned loudly. It was getting close to morning, for which he was grateful. Rural California was probably one of the most boring (though admittedly one of the most beautiful) places Dean's ever had to hunt. He was ready for a big breakfast and then a good long nap.

_Thank God Dad left._ Dean thought. He could do as he pleased when his father wasn't around.

Dean jumped when his cell began ringing.

"Yeah?" Dean answered, his voice rough with lack of sleep.

"Hey Dean. You still watching that werewolf outside Fresno?"

"Yup." Dean answered wearily. He was 25 years old for Christ's sake—he didn't need someone checking up on him.

"Listen, uh, there's a hunter a couple hours away who needs a hand."

"Can't you call someone else Bobby? I'm kind of in the middle of something." Dean said, taking a sip of now cold coffee and grimacing.

"Well I would, but you're the closest hunter. Look, the guy really needs help here. And if you could haul ass, that wouldn't hurt."

"What, is the guy hurt or something?" Dean asked quizzically.

"Yeah. Pretty bad too, I think."

Dean sighed. Another rescue operation for some stupid rookie hunter. Great.

"Alright. Where is he?"

"Palo Alto."

About to turn the keys in the ignition, Dean froze. "Bobby… tell me it's not Sam."

Bobby paused before replying, "It's Sam."

"Well why the hell didn't you tell me that?! Where is he, Bobby?!"

Bobby relayed as much information as he knew to Dean, hoping it would be enough for him to find his injured brother. Dean sped off, abandoning the stakeout, his father be damned.

A torturous three-hour long drive ahead of him, Dean pushed the Impala as fast as he could without alerting the cops. Based on what Bobby told him, Sam was injured to the point that he was trapped. Dean's heart clenched as Bobby's words echoed in his mind, and he pushed the Impala faster.

Dean didn't understand it; Sam was supposed to be living a life that didn't include hunting. He had been damn insistent on it. So unless a hunt had found him – Dean shifted uncomfortably at the thought – then Sam had been hunting. "Shit, Sam." Dean said in exasperation, running a hand through his hair. It didn't make sense.

It had been months since Dean had even spoken to Sam. After Sam left for Stanford, and the accompanied fight with their father, the brothers had spoken seldom to each other. They tried to keep tabs on each other's lives, but Dean didn't understand Sam's world of exams and essays, and Sam didn't want to hear anything to do with a life of credit card scams and questionable motels. One night after a particularly vicious hunt Dean had called, drunk to the point of slurring, begging Sam to come back to his family. A furious fight had ensued, Dean venting his anger with Sam for his so called abandonment while Sam argued his point of wanting to live his own life. Their conversation quickly turned into a nearly unintelligible shouting match until Sam had hung up after one last furious "You'll never understand".

Dean grimaced at the memory.

The sun began to peak over the horizon as Dean entered the city of Palo Alto. Following Bobby's vague instructions, he found the eastern edge of the city and the lone brick house on a street of dilapidated and decaying buildings. The street was empty this early in the morning.

Dean scrambled out of the car and squinted in the bright morning light. He grabbed a duffel, stuffing it with the med kit filled with the basics, some blankets, and a couple bottles of water. He had no idea what state Sam was in, but he hoped his few supplies could cover it for at least a little while. Dean slammed the trunk closed, walking quickly to the cellar doors on the side of the house. He pulled them open with a creak and let them fall to the ground with a thud. With the sun rising on the opposite side of the house, the early morning light did little to illuminate the cavernous opening.

"Sam?!" Dean called into the darkness.

No answer.

Taking a deep breath to settle the flutter of panic in his chest, Dean pulled out a flashlight, shining the light into the basement. He laid it near the top of the ladder to give him some light to work by and began his quick descent into the basement. He jumped down from the last few rungs.

"Sam?!" Dean called again, his voice cracking a bit.

Dean pulled out another flashlight, the one usually meant for Sam, and quickly scanned the room. "Aw, sick." He groaned, grimacing as the light fell over several dead bodies and piles of discarded skin. A puddle of drying blood next filled his line of sight, and Dean felt his stomach flip. A trail led away from the puddle, as if something had dragged the person bleeding. His heart in his throat, Dean followed the trail with the light, leading him to a pair of long, gangly legs.

"Sam!" Dean rushed forward towards his brother. Sam was slouched against the wall, head hanging still in unconsciousness against his chest. "Oh, Sam." Dean mumbled as he crouched down, placing a hand behind Sam's neck. His skin was cold and clammy, his face pale.

"Sam! Sam, wake up." Dean commanded, quickly glancing down Sam's body and taking in his injuries. He felt trepidation sink in as he took in the blood soaked bandaging around Sam's leg, his jeans dark with blood. A jagged tear in Sam's t-shirt revealed an angry cut that, at that moment at least, wasn't bleeding. Dean didn't like the look of Sam's shoulder either – probably dislocated. He took a bit of comfort in the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest, indicating life.

Needless to say, this was not the kind of reunion with his brother Dean had in mind.

"Sam! C'mon, man, you have to wake up, now." Dean said, shaking Sam and slapping him lightly on the cheek. Sam's head only lolled forward, still in unconscious. A quick check of Sam's pulse revealed a heart rate that was too quick.

Swallowing his worry, Dean pulled out the med kit and assumed the healer role. He would clean Sam up better later, but, for now, Dean just needed to stop Sam from bleeding out, especially because it seemed like he had bled enough as it was. He pulled out a roll of gauze, hoping he had enough to cover the long, deep gash on Sam's leg that was of most concern. Dean whipped out the pocket-knife he always carried and carefully cut away the makeshift bandages that were now soaked. As Dean began to tightly wrap the leg with gauze, he heard a moan from Sam.

Dean abandoned his work, turning to face Sam again and cupping his face in his hands.

"Sam? Sam, wake up, now. I need you to wake up."

Sam's brow furrowed as he struggled to process Dean's words. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open to find the concerned face of his brother hovering in front of him. Dean smiled weakly, relief filling him.

"Dean?" Sam whispered. His head felt fuzzy. Why was his brother here? He hadn't called him. Had he? His thoughts were slow and disjointed, as if he had to drag each word through molasses. But Sam was pretty sure he wouldn't call his brother unless something really bad had happened.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm here. Gonna get you out of here, ok?" Dean said softly.

"You're here?" Sam slurred, his hazel eyes revealing his confusion.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm here." Dean said, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder as if to reinforce that truth.

The touch grounded Sam, a familiar hand in a comforting place. "Good. You're always here." Sam whispered, his voice weak with exhaustion.

"Not always." Dean admitted, eyes downcast.

"Tired Dean." Sam slurred, his eyes falling shut again.

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't do that. Open your eyes, Sammy." Dean commanded in his best big brother voice.

Sam's eyes shot open at the use of his nickname, locking onto Dean's green ones.

"They're open." Sam insisted.

"I can see that." Dean said with a smirk. "Keep 'em that way."

"Thirsty, Dean."

Dean nodded once, and pulled a water bottle out of his duffle. Unscrewing the lid, he offered it to Sam before realizing his brother had no energy to grab it. "Here I got it." Dean tipped the open bottle against Sam's lips, allowing him to take several small sips before pulling it away. The cool liquid was a blessing in Sam's parched mouth, filling him with relief. He was hot and cold at the same time, his body weary and his mind confused.

"More." Sam whispered.

"Can't right now, Sammy. I need to fix you up a bit first. Don't conk out on me." Dean said clearly.

"No promises." Sam joked weakly, blinking slowly. Sam's vision was a tunnel, holding only Dean in the halo of light supplied by the flashlight. "Try and stay awake, ok?" Dean repeated.

"Hmmph." Sam grunted his acknowledgement.

Dean moved back to Sam's leg, quickly and effectively binding the wound between small gasps of pain from Sam. If he was letting his pain be known like this, Dean knew things weren't good for his brother. Dean placed a bandage over the cut on Sam's chest in case in started bleeding again. As he finished securing the bandage, Dean glanced up to see pain etched onto Sam's face, sweat glistening on his brow in the light of the flashlight.

"Sam, I need to pop your shoulder back into place ok? We can't leave it like that for too long."

"Ok…just do it fast." Sam replied, steeling himself.

Dean shifted Sam away from the wall so that he could leverage himself behind him.

"Probably gonna pass out when you do it." Sam confessed.

"I don't blame you dude. Just promise you'll wake up later ok?" Dean said as he placed his hands.

"Think I can manage that." Sam whispered.

"Alright… 1, 2, 3." With a quick motion, Dean popped the joint back into place. Sam yelled as pain coursed through his shoulder and arm before collapsing against Dean in unconsciousness. Dean slowly lowered his brother to the ground. Dean checked his pulse again, relieved to find it steady, if not a little fast. Sam needed better care than gauze and sips of water.

"Alright, how do I get an unconscious gigantor up a ladder?" Dean mused, glancing around the basement. His eyes caught on a length of long, thick rope on a shelf across the basement. Dean grabbed it, unrolling it and pulling on it with all his strength.

Good. It was sturdy.

Dean inspected the cellar opening, finding a pulley hanging from a beam that was likely attached to the side of the house. Dean hadn't noticed it in his earlier haste. It was probably left over from the days when wood was used to heat the house, the pulley allowing logs to be lowered into the basement where the furnace was.

Dean slung the cord of rope around his shoulder, and climbed out of the basement. He closed one of the doors, testing its strength before stepping on top to reach the pulley dangling above him. He reached up and threaded one end of the rope through the old mechanism. Grabbing the shorter end of the rope, Dean pulled it down with him as he descended back into the basement. On the ground again, Dean knotted the rope around his waist. Grasping the other end, he pulled with all his strength, slightly hoisting himself up. The old wooden beam creaked ominously under the weight, but it held.

"Thank God." Dean breathed out. He untied himself, and walked back over to Sam. He tried again to rouse his brother, to no success. With the amount of blood Sam had lost Dean was convinced Sam was in shock. His earlier confusion and apparent inability to stay awake longer than 10 minutes only reinforced that diagnosis.

Dean pulled Sam off the floor, and gently but firmly grasped Sam under the armpit on his uninjured side, wary of his dislocated shoulder. As Dean began to awkwardly drag Sam's limp body towards the ladder, the injured man began to stir.

Dean laid his brother down in the square of light that shone through the cellar door as Sam blinked in the sudden brightness. "Dean- what're you doin'?"

"Getting your ass out of here. Listen, Sam, I need you to stay awake, ok? This is going to be a hell of a lot easier if you can."

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam whispered, blinking slowly.

"You're not gonna conk out of me again, are you?" Dean asked shrewdly

"I'm sorry for leaving you."

Dean ran a hand over his face. He couldn't deal with an emotionally and physically hurting Sam right now. Not so soon after reuniting with his brother.

"I know. We'll…we'll talk about it later, ok?" Dean said patiently.

"I'm sorry." Sam repeated.

"Later, Sam." Dean instructed firmly. Sam only blinked in response, processing Dean's words. He wasn't sure when later would be, but he hoped it involved a bed because all he wanted to do was sleep. Sam heard Dean let out a long sigh and heard him shuffling about.

_Guess he's got a plan. _Sam thought.

Dean resumed operation get-Sam-out-of-the-basement, aware of how silly this was going to make his brother look. With a little help from Dean, Sam sat up off the dirty floor. Dean had Sam sit in the middle of one of the blankets Dean had brought from the Impala, each side pulled up between Sam's legs. "I look like a baby Dean." Sam whined weakly.

"Yeah and with that whining you sound like one." Dean replied with a grin. Sam simply scowled back at him. Dean wrapped one end of the rope around Sam's waist several times before proceeding to wrap it around each of Sam's legs several times to create a kind of crude harness, the blanket providing a bit of padding. "Sorry dude. This is gonna hurt your manhood a bit." Dean said.

"You're gonna hurt your manhood a bit." Sam slurred.

"That doesn't even make sense, Sam." Dean retorted, "Whatever." He was glad to hear Sam joking, if badly. "I'm going to hoist you up, ok? I need you sit up and hold onto the rope for me. Can you do that?" Dean instructed. Sam grunted his response, eyes blinking slowly with exhaustion.

"Hold on tight— like that time we had to haul Dad out of that well." Sam chuckled. How the two of them had ever managed to haul their Dad out of that old well when Dean was barely a teenager would forever baffle him. Dean grabbed his duffel and flashlight, and wrapped the end of rope not attached to Sam around his shoulder a few times. Dean quickly climbed up the ladder again, depositing his duffel on the ground.

Dean braced his feet and, with all his strength, began to hoist his brother up. The beam creaked in protest with every pull of the rope, but it held.

"God you need to lay off the pizza and beer, man. College is making you fat." Dean grunted.

Finally, Sam was dangling awkwardly in midair just over the open basement doors. Dean quickly tied his end of the rope around a nearby tree and rushed forward to pull Sam over the ground. Sam managed to get his weight onto his uninjured leg, leaning heavily on Dean while he untied him. As soon as Sam lost the support of the rope though, he collapsed heavily into brother. "Woah, woah, woah. I got you, little brother."

"I know you do." Sam whispered, before his eyes fell shut again.

Dean sighed heavily.

"Let's get you the hell out of here." Dean declared. He shouldered his duffle and, with a grunt, hoisted Sam up into a fireman's carry and walked into the morning light towards the Impala.

* * *

_A/N: Take a second to let me know your thoughts! Reviews let me know you all are enjoying this story :) Next chapter will be posted next Sunday (as in Feb 9)._


	4. Chapter 4

_Look ma! I'm updating early! Thanks so much to my beta for being amazing and insisting on being both grammatically and medically accurate! :)_

_**Disclaimer: **Everything I know about medicine came from Google and another story written by a true medical professional._

* * *

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly, thoughts buzzing around his head in a panic.

_Hospital or Motel._

Dean had been in his element while rescuing Sam. With a clear goal to keep him focused, Dean had kept a level head despite finding his brother in a pool of his own blood. Sam had passed out soon after Dean had managed to hoist him out of the basement that had been his prison. Dean's attempts to rouse Sam had all failed, the injured young man remaining unresponsive even when Dean deposited him somewhat roughly in the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean didn't know what to do. It was so ingrained in him to avoid hospitals that he was subconsciously ignoring the obviously necessary course of action. _No hospitals unless it's life or death, _his father's voice rang in his head.

Dean reached across the front seat and placed his hand over Sam's heart. He was reassured by the steady but quick beat he found there; the quick, shallow breaths Sam was taking erased that relief as quickly as it had come. A pained expression came over Dean's face as he realized how precarious Sam's condition truly was. This was not something Dean could fix with gauze, whiskey, and time. No matter how much he wanted to, Dean couldn't take care of this.

His decision suddenly made, Dean turned left to follow the signs for the closest hospital.

Dean pulled the Impala under the awning meant for emergency vehicles figuring at that point he really was in an emergency and in a vehicle. He jogged around to the passenger side, opening the door and catching Sam before he fell out of the car. Dean managed to get one of Sam's arms around his shoulder and grasped Sam tightly around the waist with his other arm. He started to half carry, half drag him up the walk to the glass doors of the ER.

"Could use some help over here!" Dean called desperately to no one in particular.

He looked up when he heard footsteps and a rattling noise; two men in white EMT uniforms were running towards him and were noisily pulling a gurney behind them over the blacktop. The younger of the two, a thin man with ginger hair, reached the brothers first.

"His shoulder's dislocated. Don't mess with it." Dean said hurriedly as he moved to take Sam's other arm. The younger man backed off instead moving to steady the gurney brought by his partner, a man with kind brown eyes and dark brown hair. Together, the older man and Dean laid Sam down. Against the white sheet of the gurney, his face looked impossibly paler than it had been. "My name is Gary," the older man said, "How long has he been out?"

The group walked quickly through the ER entrance, Dean and Gary on either side of Sam. "Last 15 minutes at least. He's…he's lost a lot of blood." Dean said, startled to hear how shaky his voice was.

Gary looked down the Sam's prone form, finding Dean's quick patch job and the blood that was tinting the bandaging crimson. "We'll get him some help, ok?" Gary said in a steady voice, "Jack, run ahead and let trauma know we got a curbside with severe blood loss." With a curt nod, the ginger haired man ran ahead and disappeared around a corner.

Dean and Gary trailed behind, pushing through double doors that read TRAUMA in bold red letters with a bang. Gary directed them to a room with glass walls lined with medical equipment. A team of nurses and orderlies that were already there expertly transferred Sam from the gurney to the ER bed with Dean standing slightly off the center of activity. One of the nurses immediately began taking Sam's vitals by placing an oximeter on Sam's finger, a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm, and pads to his chest that led to a heart monitor. A middle aged man with black hair, tan skin, and a stethoscope around his neck suddenly appeared next to Dean. "What have we got?" he called out to his team.

"BPs 80 over 30, O2 in the upper 80s, pulse 150. Unresponsive and diaphoretic, Dr. S." A young nurse with blond hair reported.

"Get him started on a saline drip. Amy, draw a vial of blood; get it typed and start him on a unit of blood as soon as you can. Get that bleeding under control. I don't like those blood pressure numbers so keep a close eye on him now." Turning to Dean, he asked, "What's his name? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Sam. His name's Sam. I'm his brother." Dean said, relieved to find his voice steady again. He watched as the nurses cut the tattered remains of Sam's jeans off to get to his injured leg, his shoes having already been stripped off. "He fell from a ladder I think. I wasn't there. He dislocated his shoulder and cut his leg pretty bad." Sam was quiet in the center of a room of frenzied activity, the calm eye of the storm around him.

"Did you do this?" the doctor asked while a nurse started cutting away Dean's bandaging. Under the clinically bright hospitals lights the wound looked far worse than what Dean had been able to make out in the dark basement. The gash had resumed its bleeding in earnest now, the liquid running in red lines down Sam's leg and staining the white sheet below. Dean gulped nervously as a nurse placed a large pressure bandage over the injury. When Dean had wrapped it earlier, Sam had stirred almost instantly. Now, he remained still and quiet.

Dean gulped to clear the bulge that had appeared in his throat. "I, uh, yeah. I have a bit of first aid knowledge. Popped his shoulder back into place too." Dean reported, taking a small bit of pride in the impressed look on the doctor's face.

"It was a good call. You may just have saved his life," The doctor said evenly, "Is Sam allergic to anything?"

Dean shook his head, "No. No, he's not."

"Alright you need you to let us work now. Gary here will lead you back out into the waiting room, and we'll get your brother fixed up, ok?" the doctor said, trying to catch Dean's eye. Dean didn't notice, lost in the paleness of Sam's face.

Gary firmly grasped Dean's shoulder to lead him away. When Dean didn't budge, Gary said, "You've done everything you can. Don't worry. Dr. Suarez will take care of him."

"But…" Dean started, watching the nurses stick needles and affix pads to his brother's still form. Gary pulled him gently. Realizing the truth to Gary's words, Dean sighed and allowed himself to be led back through the double doors.

In the waiting area, Gary sat Dean down in a pale green, unforgiving plastic chair. The small room was nearly empty this early in the morning.

"A nurse will come find you once they have Sam stabilized," Gary said quietly, "You did everything right." With a reassuring smile, Gary squeezed Dean's shoulder in an act of solidarity before leaving him to his thoughts.

Dean sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. Some reunion.

This was certainly not the way Dean had envisioned reuniting with the brother he fallen away from months before. For a while now, Dean had considered simply driving to Stanford to find Sam and tell him that he was sorry for all the things he had said. Truth was he had agreed to take the stakeout in Fresno as a chance to contemplate the idea thoroughly without his father hovering over him. He needed to be able to think of what to say to Sam that would make everything ok again. Dean wasn't even sure if he was still mad at Sam, or even that he was ever truly mad at him. But there still had been angry words exchanged in their last conversation, and that bitterness needed to be mended. In the end, it was probably more that Dean simply missed Sam; the brothers had seldom spent more than a few days apart until Sam had left. But Dean wasn't about to confess that. He just wanted things to be how they had been before. Or at least, as much as they could be considering Sam's pursuit of the normal life.

It would be choice for each of them to get over their differing perspectives and desires to get back to being brothers.

Bobby's call that Sam was injured and needed help had taken that choice away from Dean. Sam needed Dean, and that was all Dean needed to hear.

At that moment, a nurse came by to report that Sam's bleeding was under control and that he was getting stitched up.

Relief filled Dean, easing the worry that he hadn't noticed had been eating away at his insides since stumbling upon Sam unconscious in the basement. So profound was his relief that it took a few seconds for him to realize the nurse was asking him something.

"…hate to ask right now, but do you have Sam's insurance information?"

"Uh…yeah." Dean pulled himself together with a quick breath. "Yeah you know I think he has something through his school. Sam Winchester. He goes to Stanford." Dean said wearily. His sleepless night was catching up to him now that his worry-fueled adrenaline was fading.

"Ah smart guy." The nurse said, clearly impressed, "We'll look him up in our system then; it's connected to the school," she told Dean before walking back to her post.

Dean chuckled quietly. Sam had always been the brains of the hunts. These days, though, Dean supposed Sam was using that brainpower to learn about non-demony, non-people eating things. _What a life._ Dean thought.

"Uh, sir?" Jack, the ginger EMT from earlier, was back. Dean looked blearily up into his face. "I'm sorry but could you move your car? It's still parked at ambulance arrival."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." Dean said gruffly. By the time Dean moved the Impala to a proper parking spot and returned to the waiting room, the blond haired nurse from earlier was there calling for the family of Sam Winchester.

"Yeah that's me!" Dean called out. "How's Sam? Can I see him yet?"

"My name is Amy. Sam's doing well, all considering. He's still kind of out of it, but you're welcome to come back and stay with him." the nurse said with a smile. As she led Dean back through the double doors, Amy called over her shoulder, "That quick first aid work you did probably did save his life you know."

"Um, thanks I guess." Dean said sheepishly. He had just done what he had been trained to do: fix the problem to the best of his abilities.

They came to a stop outside a room labeled "Recovery Room 3". Amy gestured inside, allowing Dean to enter first. Sam lay in a bed at the far end of the room, curtains pulled halfway around in a semblance of privacy. His eyes were closed, various machines and IV bags set up around him like medical ornaments.

"Looks like he fell asleep again," Amy said as she checked the monitors, "Don't worry about it- he's probably going to be exhausted for a couple of days. Blood loss is nothing to take lightly."

Dean just nodded in response. He pulled a chair from the corner over next to Sam's bed and sat down heavily in it.

"If you call his name he'll probably wake," Amy said quietly, "I'll leave you two alone." She left the room.

Dean just stared at Sam, elbows on his knees and his fingers laced together so that he could rest his chin on top. "Oh Sam." He whispered. _Don't worry Sammy. I'm here._

* * *

_**A/N**: One more chapter! :) I almost included it here, but then this would have been more than twice as long as my other chapters. It's nearly finished, so true reunion time is soon to come!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N**: This chapter ended up being much more difficult to write than I thought, and I rewrote it three times. I could probably mess with it for a week longer, but I also needed it to be done. This is what I ended up with, so I hope you are happy with it dear readers! Thanks so much for reviewing!  
____  
Thank you so much to my beta on this story, Melody Sypher Carston, for being amazing and putting so much work in helping this story come out well. __  
_

_I did some tinkering with it after my beta got it back to me, so any remaining errors or confusing parts are mine._

* * *

Sam's world was a haze of musty basement, pain, and a strange kind of tired that pushed him down into the dirty floor. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he needed to get up. If he could just stay awake long enough to pull himself together, he could climb out of this prison. But he was just so _damn tired._

He drifted off.

Sometime later (or was it a few seconds?) pain erupted in his leg. He opened his eyes to find a face in front of him; it was a very familiar face. But there was no way he would be here. Sam hadn't called him. Had he?

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sam, I'm here," The fuzzy blob that was his brother replied. Dean was always there for Sam. He always knew how to fix every terrible situation the hunter's life provided for them.

"You're always here." Sam whispered.

Dean had said some things, but Sam couldn't really remember. He thought maybe he had said something too, but what he had no idea. There had been some water, sweet blessed water. There had been pain, a bone deep throb in his leg. And then a sharp, intense pain in his shoulder quickly followed by darkness.

Consciousness came and went after that. Something had been funny. Sam was pretty sure he had been hoisted up at some point; that was a weird sensation. He remembered the brightness of the morning, so different from the dark of the basement. It had been one thing too much for his exhausted brain to process, and consciousness abandoned him. Sam knew nothing more after that.

So now, Sam was somewhat mystified to find himself comfortably laid out in a bed. A deep exhaustion and a strange kind of nausea still gripped him, but he fought it. He needed to find Dean, and confirm his presence. Sam forced his eyes open to find a smiling face with sharp blue eyes and soft blond hair looking down at him. It definitely wasn't Dean, but at least he wasn't alone any more.

Sam drifted again, reassured that he at least wasn't going to die anymore and too tired to keep his eyes open any longer.

The next time Sam blinked open his eyes, he felt more like himself. It was early afternoon judging by the light streaming through the window next to him. There was a strange kind of emptiness inside Sam, like he was a few degrees less than his full self. But still, he felt alive.

"Hiya, Sammy." a familiar voice said somewhere off to his left.

Sam turned his head, wincing as it pulled on the muscles of his recently reset shoulder. There, sitting not 5 feet from his bed, was his brother, leather jacket and cheeky grin included. "Dean?" Sam croaked out.

"The one and only." Dean said with a grin, "How're you feeling?" He offered Sam a plastic cup of water, helping him take a few sips before setting it back down.

Sam sighed. "I'm alright, I guess. I'm really tired." His bed was slightly reclined, somewhere between completely upright and completely horizontal. His right arm was in a sling, presumably to keep him from moving it too much while his shoulder healed. Sam's right leg was strangely numb, but he attributed it to the myriad of painkillers he was probably on. Glancing around, he saw several IV bags hanging to his right, one tinted red at the edges. Sam frowned at the sight.

"Well it's good to see you awake," Dean said, "I've been getting pretty bored waiting for your lazy ass to wake up."

Sam huffed out a weak laugh. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he joked lightly. They quieted, the stillness broken only by the occasional beep of the monitor's attached to Sam.

When it became clear Sam wasn't going to break the silence between them, Dean asked, "So should I even ask? Or are you just going to pretend that you weren't hunting?"

Sam turned his head back to face his brother, who looked at him with a hardness in his green eyes.

"Honestly Dean? I didn't really realize I was hunting until I found myself in that basement." Dean scoffed, and opened his mouth to retaliate but Sam interrupted him saying, "Please let me explain." Dean shut his mouth in response, his brow furrowed.

"I just...," Sam sighed again, and he suddenly became very interested in the zig-zag pattern of his thin hospital blanket, "I'd heard about what was going on and decided to look into it a little bit. You know how it is. We know things the police don't, so we know what to look for. I decided to investigate a little more in person, but I swear I was going to call another hunter to actually come and take care of the job. I didn't go looking for a hunt, exactly. The hunt kind of…found me."

Dean scoffed again, and said, "Well, that shifter definitely found you."

"She wasn't suppose to." Sam said quietly, a defeated look coming over him.

"Yeah, but I bet she wished she hadn't, because I have to say Sammy, even out of practice you showed that shifter. Someone must have taught you well. I wonder who that could have been." Dean said with a knowing smirk.

"Don't flatter yourself, Dean." Sam said.

"Too late." Dean replied with a cheeky grin.

"Thanks, by the way," Sam said, "For coming."

"Sam, you don't have to thank me. I'm your brother. Rescuing you is just part of the job description," Dean said.

A silence fell between the brothers again, neither knowing exactly what to say next.

"Why'd you do it?" Dean asked suddenly, "Why'd you go on a hunt?" At the look on Sam's face, he said, "Or ok, sorry, why'd you _accidently_ go on a hunt?"

"Why do you hunt, Dean?" Sam shot back, locking eyes with his brother.

"You know why, Sammy. That's just what we do. We're Winchesters. We save people from the creepy things that want to eat us," Dean replied, a little heat edging into his words.

"And that's exactly why I did this. I knew some of these people, and I needed to do something about it before that shifter killed someone again. I didn't really think about what I was doing. I just… went." Sam quieted, hoping Dean understood.

"That doesn't change the fact that you went hunting." Dean's voice was steadily getting louder as his long buried anger bubbled to the surface.

"Dean, I don't want to be a hunter. This was a one-time thing that just got the better of me. It won't happen again." Sam insisted.

Dean laughed bitterly, running a hand through his short hair in frustration.

"I got out of that life."

"You mean you got away from Dad." Dean said bitterly.

"Yeah, Dean, I got away from Dad," Sam's voice rose to try and match Dean's, "I was just so tired of it, of everything. I was tired of fighting with Dad. I was tired of moving around, of never having a home and never making friends. I was tired of always being scared that something was coming to get me. Or you. Or Dad. I just didn't want to do it anymore."

"Yeah, well, apparently you do." Dean said, not too unkindly. He began pacing the room, trying to work off some his frustration. "It comes with the job, Sam. Yeah, there are risks, and yeah sometimes it really sucks to live out of a duffel. But that's how it works. And we did it together."

"I…" Sam started, losing his nerve as soon as he started. He was just too tired to fight with his brother right now, and too tired to try and make him understand. But Dean had other ideas, his frustrations already getting the best of him. He stood up suddenly, gesturing wildly.

"You what, Sam?! You want to save people from monsters? Then you're a hunter. You walk out on your family, you run away to perfect sunny California, you go to college like a good boy, and you still end up hunting. Face it, Sam. You're a hunter."

"I only did it this one time. I'm not..." Sam started before Dean cut him off.

"You can't promise that. There's no such thing as a recreational hunter, Sam. You can't have it both ways."

Sam sighed deeply, exhaustion weighing him down. He was quickly losing his small store of energy.

"I know, Dean." Sam said quietly.

"Good."

Dean stopped his pacing, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. As it abated, Dean realized his frustrations were more out of concern at finding his brother injured and unwilling to call his brother than out of the bitterness of their last phone conversation. He sighed, and returned to his seat next to Sam's bed, staring down at his boots. He was quite, suddenly emotionally drained.

"Dean?"

"What?" Dean said sharply, not looking up.

"I just want you to know why I left. I needed to live my own life. That's all. For once, I wanted to take care of myself and make my own decisions." Sam said wearily, "I'm 21 years old, Dean. I'm not 5 anymore."

Dean could hear the exhaustion in Sam's voice, and he suddenly felt guilty for picking a fight, especially this fight, with him right now. He glanced at Sam to make fleeting eye contact, and saw pain there. It was more than just his physical injuries that were expressed there. Sam never was one for hiding his emotions, and especially not from his brother.

"I think that's why I found myself on this hunt too. I guess part of me wanted to prove that I could do it without you." Sam chuckled darkly before continuing, "I guess I was wrong."

Dean chuckled too. "You did kill it though."

"True." Sam conceded, accepting the compliment.

"Soooooo how are we doing in here?" a cheerful voice said. Amy, the nurse, was back. Her bright smile grew wider as she saw that Sam was awake. "I just came to check on Sam and change his dressings. I can come back later if I'm interrupting something…?" she asked leadingly.

"No, it's fine." Sam said wearily. He was truly exhausted now, and didn't really mind the break in conversation.

"Yeah, we're just joking around. We haven't seen each other in a while." Dean said.

"Ah I see. Well, I'm glad you two are back together again." Amy said.

"Yeah, me too." Dean said, making fleeting eye contact with Sam. Sam gave him a small, tired smile in reply.

Amy quickly and professionally redressed Sam's leg, and changed out his empty IV bags with new ones. "You've had two pints of blood already, so Dr. Suarez thinks one more should do the trick. This one is just to keep you hydrated," Amy said, indicating the bag of clear liquid. Sam nodded slowly in acknowledgement, eyes blinking in exhaustion. "If you're up for it, you should be cleared to go home in the early afternoon tomorrow," she said, patting Sam lightly on the shoulder. After making a few notes on her clipboard she left, leaving Sam and Dean alone again.

"Dean, I'm sorry." Sam said quietly, "I'm sorry I left the way I did. I can't change that I'm not little anymore. Hell, I'm way bigger than you."

"You don't have to remind me." Dean mumbled.

Sam ignored him and continued, "But just because I grew up doesn't mean I don't still need my big brother."

Dean sighed heavily. "Sam, I will always be your big brother. I can't change that, and hell, I don't want to. No matter how angry I may seem, no matter how far I away I might be, you can call me. Especially when you're bleeding on the floor of a basement."

"Seriously?" Sam asked.

"Seriously."

They quieted, both glad that they had finally seemed to come to some kind of understanding.

"You look exhausted, dude. Get some sleep." Dean said, noticing the dark circles under Sam's eyes.

Sam wasn't going to argue with Dean on that point. "You'll be here when I wake up?" Sam mumbled, his eyes slipping shut before Dean could respond.

"I'll always be here, Sammy." Dean whispered.

[*][*][*][*][*][*][*][*][*]

Sam checked out the next afternoon, walking out to the Impala while leaning heavily on Dean. He was still bone tired, and his healing leg refused to support him. The hospital had given him crutches, but Sam was still too tired to use them for longer than a few minutes. Leaning so closely to Dean, it was hard to miss the smell of lighter fluid, smoke, and a somewhat sinister smell that both brothers were far too familiar with.

"Dude, did you burn the shifter?" Sam asked as Dean helped him down into the passenger seat.

"Yup. Went and did it this morning while you were still sleeping. We don't need people finding that mess and getting ideas." Dean leaned on the Impala, one arm on the open passenger side door and the other on the roof of the Impala, creating a kind of Dean shaped tent over Sam.

"What did you do about the bodies?" Sam asked, a little bit afraid of Dean's answer. Sam had known some of those people, and wanted the families to get at least some sense of closure.

"After I burned it and all its gross skin shedding crap, I left an anonymous tip for the police for the location of the bodies." Dean reported.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Dean said, "You're welcome, by the way. I had to shovel all that gross crap all by myself. Freakin' monsters." Sam laughed humorlessly. Freakin' monsters is right. Dean shut Sam's door, got into the driver's seat, and they were off.

Sam hadn't asked his brother to stay and help, but before he knew it Dean was in his apartment, settling him into bed with plenty of pillows and bringing him snacks. Sam wasn't about to admit it, but he was grateful. He was also silently thanking his luck that his roommate was making it a habit to stay at his girlfriend's apartment. A roommate on top of Dean would have too much to deal with.

"Dude, what are doing?" Sam asked while he watched Dean lug his old, heavy TV into Sam's bedroom.

"Doc said you're on bed rest for the next few days, and I sure as hell don't plan to entertain you the whole time. We," He placed the TV on Sam's desk with a huff, "are going to resume your Godzilla education." Dean smiled widely and raised his eyebrows in excitement before walking back out of the room to grab the VHS player.

"I have to study at some point too you know!" Sam called after him.

"Loser!" Dean called back from the living room.

Sam laughed to himself, shaking his head. Dean would never change. It was something he was both eternally grateful for and that frustrated him wildly. Nevertheless, Sam was glad to have Dean around again. He hadn't realized how much he had truly missed his brother until Dean's presence filled up his normally quiet apartment.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock on his front door. "I got it!" he heard Dean call out.

The sound of a door opening, and then a woman's voice said, "Oh, hi! Who are you?"

_"_Shit." Sam said under his breath. He craned his neck, straining to listen to the conversation at the door. He cursed himself for having left his crutches in the living room.

"Name's Dean. I'm Sam's brother. He's resting right now. And who might you be?"

"I'm Jessica. Jess. I have notes for his PolySci class. I heard he was sick so I thought I would bring them to him. I know he doesn't want to get behind," Sam heard Jess say. Sam and Jess had gone on a few dates, so he wasn't surprised to hear her showing up at his door unannounced.

"I'm sure he doesn't. I'll be sure to give this to him." Dean said.

"He's done it for me a few times, so I just thought I would return the favor."  
_  
Good cover, Jess. _Sam wasn't exactly ready to confess to his brother that he was dating someone.

"Well that's awfully nice of you." Sam could practically see the smile on Dean's face, the one he reserved for flirting with pretty girls.

"It's not a problem," Jess said cheerily. "Just let him know I said hi, ok?"

"I will. Thanks." Sam heard the door close again, and then Dean's approaching footsteps.

"Here, geek boy. A hot chick just came by to drop these off." Dean said, throwing the notes onto Sam's bed._  
_  
"Stay away from her, ok?" Sam said warningly.

Dean paused, and turned to look at Sam. "Wait, wait, wait. Does Sammy have a crush?!" Dean taunted, a look of utter glee on his face at discovering this tid bit of information.

"Shut up." Sam said, throwing a pillow at Dean. Dean grabbed the fallen pillow to retaliate, and before they knew it was an all-out pillow fight. Sam quickly surrendered, still tiring easily.

Breathless, Dean said, "Naw, Sammy don't worry. She's all yours. Though I have to say she's way out of your league. Oh well. It'll be a good challenge for you."

"Thanks. I feel much better now," Sam replied sarcastically.

"Whatever, dude. I'm sure she's sold on your puppy dog eyes alone. Now let's get started. We have 4 movies to get through today. Pay attention. There's a quiz at the end."

The brothers settled on Sam's bed together, just big enough to hold two grown men when they sat on it sideways like a couch. There used to be a time when the brothers could easily share a twin-sized bed in a pinch. A lot had changed since those days.

Dean stopped paying attention after the first hour, lost in thought. Making a decision, he paused the movie just as Godzilla descended upon Tokyo. He turned to Sam, only to find his brother asleep next to him, slumped over his pillow. The position couldn't be comfortable, especially with an injured shoulder.

"Sam, wake up." Dean commanded, poking Sam in the ribs just like he had when they were teenagers.

"Leave me alone." Sam whined. He turned away from Dean, trying to get him to stop his poking.

"Sammy, wake up. I need to talk to you." Dean said more insistently.

That did it. Sam begrudgingly opened his eyes. He sat up and stretched with one arm, winching as the movement jostled his shoulder. He leaned back against the pillows, resting his head against the wall. "Alright Dean I'm awake. What's up?"

"I just…" Dean trailed off, suddenly losing his nerve. Dean Winchester wasn't much for heart to hearts.

"What, Dean? You woke me up so this better be good." Sam said wearily.

"Sam, I just wanted you to know that I get it now." Dean said quickly, staring down at his hands.

Sam turned his head to look at Dean, "You get what?"

"You wanted to live your own life. I can't be mad at you for that. Dad never asked you, and I always assumed the hunting life was what you wanted. So, I guess what I'm trying to say," Dean paused and shifted uncomfortably on the bed, "is that I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for not trying to understand." Dean was still staring down at his hands, so he didn't notice the sympathetic look that came over Sam's face.

Sam reached out and clasped Dean on the shoulder with his usable left hand. Dean looked up, and before he could realize what was happening, Sam had pulled him into an awkward half hug until Sam finally released him. "Thank you, Dean."

"Yeah well… I guess it was my turn to apologize."

Sam huffed out a low, amused chuckle.

"Alright, is the moment over now? Godzilla is about to destroy Tokyo."

"Yeah Dean. The moment's over," Sam said, a grin on his face.

Sam was right. Dean would never change.

[*][*][*][*][*][*][*][*][*][*]

A few days later, Sam had much of his strength back and was able to hobble around his apartment on his own. His leg would take several weeks to heal fully, but there would be no lasting damage. Dean had made up some excuse to their father that he was investigating a lead from Caleb about a vengeful spirit, but that lie could only last for so long. So now, Dean was packing up the few possessions he brought up to Sam's apartment, preparing to leave and meet up with their Dad again.

"Alright, I left a bunch of food in the fridge. You had like, no food in there." Dean said while he gathered up his duffle.

"I'll be fine Dean." Sam said patiently for the third time that day.

Dean walked to the front door, giving his brother a once over. Sam stood with crutches supporting him, wearing a pair old baggy sweatpants and an old hoodie of Dean's that was slightly too small. Dean swallowed hard before saying, "Alright, well, call if you need anything, ok? Even if it's 2 in the morning. And especially if you're bleeding on the floor of a basement."

Sam chuckled before saying, "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Nope." Dean said with a cheeky grin. Sam grinned back sheepishly, and shook his head in exasperation. Without another word, Dean turned the corner and was gone.

Sam closed the door with a quite click, and leaned against the closed door to breathe out a deep sigh.

Sam didn't know when he would see his brother again. Their lives were just too unpredictable to ever know for sure. Sam was just glad he had his brother back.

* * *

_**A/N:** That's it! I hope you all got the resolution you were hoping for. Please review and let me know your thoughts!_


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